


Involution

by Paeonia



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Fix-it suggestion, Gen, Nobody is Dead, Secret Identities, Secretly Married, Time Travel, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24889135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paeonia/pseuds/Paeonia
Summary: Written after Agents of Shield 7x04. References the trailer to 7x05; no spoilers for anything Agents of SHIELD after that.One way it could all work out for Peggy and DanielHappy Birthday to @AnniePlusMacDonald!Many thanks to @cuppatealove for her help with Agents of SHIELD lore, beta-ing, and idea bouncing
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa
Comments: 85
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnniePlusMacDonald](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnniePlusMacDonald/gifts).



_“We’re in a fight against body-snatching robots from another planet who want to wipe us out and take the Earth.”_

Sousa gives up on trying to understand; he’s used to having to respond to a crisis while leaving the big picture for later. This bunch could have killed him - or let him be killed - a couple of times over; then there’s the technology and the eagle on the wall and they’re sure not acting like kidnappers. SHIELD from the future really does seem to make everything fit.

He still can’t quite believe he’s been declared dead but that can wait. There’s work to do.

* * *

“1975,” they tell him. 

“I am _not_ wearing bell bottoms,” says May. Her expression does not invite discussion. But if she knows what to wear….

“So 1975 is still the past for you,” he says. “Just how far in the future are you from?”

“That’s a complicated question,” says Coulson.

“Heh. Do we even _know_ anymore?” says Johnson.

“Early 21st century is good enough,” says Mack.

So, depending on how early, within his lifetime? He’d be in his 80’s — or maybe not? But now’s not the time to think about it. The youngest guy on the team — Deke, they called him — is passing out clothes.

“Do I need some of those?” he asks. 

“You should be all right as you are,” says Coulson. “Your hat’s still drying out, but the ‘70s aren’t big on hats anyway.”

The others go to change clothes, and Coulson shows him to a cabin. “Your hat’s wet because it was raining cats and dogs that night. That and after you got shot you fell into a hotel swimming pool. Or I did. I’m afraid your coat’s a lost cause.” He pokes two fingers through the two bullet holes torn in the back of the coat.

Sousa stares at the coat and looks up at Coulson. “How did you survive that?”

“Technology from the future. Can’t wait to show you more.” He indicates his own clothes. “You can find your way back to the bridge?”

“Yeah. Just… give me a minute.” 

Coulson shows him how to operate the door and leaves to change. Sousa sinks down on the berth.

If his hat and coat are here… then what’s left of him back in 1955?

He’ll have to ask later. He glances at the door again, checking for privacy, and unbuckles his belt.

He wasn’t kidding back on the train when he’d told Coulson that Howard Stark was a pompous ass. But Howard is SHIELD’s pompous ass (or one of them) — and Peggy always says he’s _our_ pompous ass (or _utter wanker_ or _ridiculous git_ — she has so many special nicknames for Howard.) In ‘47 he’d appointed himself Sousa’s personal prosthetist: he’d tapped all his research contacts in biomechanics and materials engineering, added the Stark touch, and come up with a design that was beyond anything that Sousa could have imagined. And he’d never abandoned the project: he’d improved on it every year since. 

Sousa had put on the ‘54 model that day — or yesterday — whenever — before he’d left for Groom Lake. The big advance that year was a new fabric liner that was easier on his skin, so he could get away with wearing the prosthetic for much longer periods of time. Looks he’d made a lucky choice. He takes a silk stump sock out of an inner jacket pocket and presses the button that releases the vacuum seal. He lifts his leg out of the prosthetic, checks it over as best he can without a mirror, puts on the sock, and slips his leg back into the socket of the prosthetic. He inflates the seal most of the way, slides open the access panel on the back of the leg, pulls the stump sock off, and finishes inflating the seal. He puts the sock back in his pocket and gets dressed again. As he holsters his gun, he wonders if he’ll even be able to find ammunition for it. Maybe they’ll issue him something from the future.

* * *

He jokes as best he can about embracing the ‘70s, but it’s hard. This is supposed to be the future. San Francisco used to be so pretty. Why is it so… grubby? What happened?

When they’re searching Dr. Pym’s office, he notices a cream-colored card among the files. The SHIELD eagle is centered above the text: 

The honor of your presence is requested  
  
At the opening and dedication  
  
of the  
  
Daniel Sousa Memorial Research Laboratory  
  
July 22, 1975

For a moment, he can’t breathe. He doesn’t notice May standing up and leaving the room.

Johnson and Coulson are still. He forces himself to speak. “I guess it’s really true then.”

“It’s part of a joint facility with Edwards Air Force Base,” says Coulson. “State of the art.”

“God knows I was out there often enough waiting to catch a plane,” Sousa finally says. “Guess it’s better than the Daniel Sousa Memorial Coffee Vending Machine.”

Coulson chuckles. “The life of an agent.”

“Yeah. The life of an agent.” Sousa’s voice is tight. He reminds himself that he’s on a mission and reaches for a file. What will he do if he finds any familiar names? Or if they find any familiar names? “Let me know if you see anything more about my building.”

* * *

_Come with me, if you want to continue to exist._

Sousa glances over at the driver and does a double-take. “Mr. Enoch?”

“Agent Sousa. It is good to see you again.”

“Same. Surprised to see you here — wait!” He turns to look at Coulson in the back seat. “Shouldn’t he be surprised to see me?”

“I would be, if I were merely the bartender at the Krazy Kanoe,” says Enoch. “Which, by the way, has been redecorated to emulate a ‘fern bar’ and is now named Fiddleheads.” 

Coulson, in the back seat, grins at the name, but before he can reminisce Enoch continues his update. “Your efforts in 1955 to maintain the timeline were successful. Agent Sousa is still officially listed as killed in action and his bravery continues to inspire the agents of SHIELD. You are correct that one of the Chronicoms’ objectives in this time period is to sabotage the impending launch. However, they have at least one other objective. They are aware that Agent Sousa is still alive, and they are intent on assassinating him.”

Sousa grimaces. “Once wasn’t enough?”

“Apparently not. They have learned that your death now will have grave ramifications for SHIELD.”

“Then we should hurry up and get back to the _Zephyr_ ,” says May. The others in the back seat agree with her.

Enoch squints at the street ahead. “Very well. If any of you happen to possess hats, I strongly suggest you hold on to them now.” Sousa and the others are thrown almost on their sides as he makes a hairpin turn in the middle of an intersection.

* * *

Back on the _Zephyr,_ Sousa approaches Deke and asks for a tour. He takes special interest in the communication systems and tries his best to understand what the kid is telling him.

“... _hack in_?”

“It means to… make an unexpected connection to a network,” explains Deke.

“Like tapping a phone line, or listening in on a radio communication.”

“Yeah. Or sometimes it’s just improvised. Like you don’t have a key to your house…”

“So you make a new one, or go in a window?”

“Or cut your own new door.”

Sousa nods, impressed. “So… what kinds of things can you hack into?”

Deke shrugs. “Communications… data….”

“Data like… records? Like SHIELD records, or public records?” His mind starts racing ahead. Even the phone book would be a good start….

“Sure! Let me show you.” He starts leading Sousa across the ship, but not quickly enough: Mack materializes. 

“ _Deke._ What are you doing?”

“Oh, I was just showing Agent Sousa how we can access...” Deke’s face falls as he realizes what he’d almost done.”Records. You know, like, public records. But I guess we’d need a connection, wouldn’t we. No wireless yet.”

“No, not for anything significant yet. Which... public records?” 

“Nothing in particular,” says Sousa. “Just… curious to see some of your resources, and maybe learn a little more about the ‘70s before we land.”

Mack chuckles a little. “What Deke does not realize is that 1970s tech is advanced enough to make hacking in worth your while, but not to make it easy. We’re going to be landing soon. Maybe we’ll have time later to watch him get frustrated.”

Sousa, of course, knows that Mack is not telling him something, and he’s pretty sure Mack knows that he knows. But he also knows it’s better to just go along with it. 

For now. 

* * *

“Hold on,” snaps Sousa. “I have experience with Hydra tech, and I _know_ that place. Quite a few of those boxes were packed and placed there by me, personally. None of you have ever even been there. Now you’re going to hide something in that building, and you think I’m not coming?” 

Simmons looks like she’s trying to figure out how to break some bad news. Sousa clenches his hand on his cane to stop himself from hitting something with it. “Don’t tell me. The timeline again?”

Simmons nods. “If you’re discovered….”

“Well, what if that _is_ the timeline? Maybe those guys are after me because I’m not supposed to stay dead. Maybe I’m _supposed_ to turn up. Like Rip Van Winkle.”

“But your being there, or your returning at all, is not anywhere in the records,” says Jemma. The patience in her voice is shaded with regret, and it stops Sousa short.

Mack speaks up. ”You don’t think an agent who’s been dead for 20 years turning up with a bunch of strangers in a SHIELD storage facility isn’t going to get some kind of note in the history books? Look: we’ve got SHIELD records on the plane. When we have some time, we can set you up with a drink and a comfy chair and let you Control-F through them as long as you like. Maybe we can do it before our next jump. But anything you find after 1955 is going to have the words ‘killed in action’ after it. And we can’t risk doing anything to change that.“

“What about the bunch of strangers? Is there anything in the records about them?” Sousa watches as Mack and Jemma look at each other. 

Mack sighs. “It’s a big risk.”

“Yeah. But you're taking it. Just like you took a risk fishing me out of that swimming pool. If this mission is as critical as you’re telling me it is, then I’m taking that risk too.”

“Deke,” Mack finally says. “One more disguise, for Agent Sousa.”

“Great!” Deke doesn’t seem worried about the timeline at all. “But... how do you know everything’s the way you left it twenty years ago? Wouldn’t SHIELD have, you know, cleaned the place out or rearranged it or something?”

Mack looks at Sousa and shakes his head in an _oh, these kids_ kind of way. Jemma presses back a smile. 

* * *

Some Hydra goons intercept them on their way to the storage facility, or try to. The fight is fierce but textbook. Sousa makes a point of shooting out the taillights on the goons’ van: maybe the cops will pull them over and make their lives a little more difficult. 

They’re even able to keep their own delivery van looking reasonably tidy. Once they reach the facility, their access plan goes off perfectly. Sousa can’t decide whether to be furious with the sentries or proud of the team.

He decides to go with proud: they are SHIELD, after all, and the IDs Mack and Deke offer at the gate are impeccably forged. Mack even gets a chance to casually mention to the sentry that there’s talk of a stolen delivery van in the area — broken taillights — armed and dangerous, cops aren’t saying anything, trying to avoid attracting attention. After the sentry waves him on, he drives around to the back of the building and backs the van up to a loading platform. They load up hand trucks with boxes of pretzels and potato chips and crackers, ostensibly for the vending machines. The guard at the loading dock does not notice Sousa; he is young, and Sousa is wearing eyeglasses with thick frames. The guard does ask, in a friendly way, where Max is, and why five people are taking his place, but their IDs and their story about a training day satisfy him. Once they’ve turned a corner and are out of his sight, they hurry to the storage room.

It hasn’t changed much at all. They split up and start searching for the box in question. From the description, Sousa has a pretty good idea of where it might be, and is oddly comforted when he finds it. He radios the rest of the team.

Deke arrives first, pushing a hand truck, closely followed by Johnson and Simmons. “There is so much great stuff here!”

“Coulson would love this,” adds Johnson.

Deke parks the hand truck. “We should take some of it back with us!”

“You can’t just take something out of a file room,” says Sousa. 

“Sure we can. Those Hydra guys were going to.” Deke waves at the shelves of boxes. “This stuff hasn’t been touched in years. Who’d miss it? I mean, look at this.” He shows them the top box on his hand truck: it's covered with a thick layer of dust and is labeled FIELD EQUIPMENT - FEMALE - PURSE. “This could come in handy.”

“Just put it back exactly where you found it, or nobody else will ever be able to find it again,” says Sousa. He knows he’s wasting his breath, but he can’t not say it, it’s just habit now. “You need to be able to find your information quickly, just like your gear. But before you do that, let’s misfile this package.”

Deke puts his treasure aside and crouches to look at the box they've come to hide. “What is this thing, anyway?"

“Who cares?” says Johnson. “If SHIELD’s not using it and Hydra wants it, it can’t be anything good. Don’t touch it, don’t even unwrap it.”

“Good protocol for Hydra tech. Hope you didn’t have to learn that the hard way,” says Sousa.

“We did, unfortunately,” says Simmons. 

They find a box large enough to contain the box Hydra wants. "Careful with that lid," says Sousa. "That dust is part of the disguise."

Deke and Johnson hide the box in the larger one, and Simmons carefully tapes it shut. Sousa pulls a felt-tip pen out of his pocket and adds a note to the label on the outer box, using an old SHIELD code. He takes another look at the pen. “That’s a good one. When does that get invented?”

“A Sharpie? Never thought about it before,” says Johnson. 

They hide the box among the most boring-looking boxes they can find in an area where it won’t look obviously disturbed. When Mack gives the all-clear, they take their hand trucks and start back to the van. 

They are about halfway down the hall when they see two guards approaching them. One of them is the loading dock guard, and before they’ve taken three more steps Sousa and the rest of the team understand that something is seriously wrong.

The Chronicoms don't bother with any further pretense. They draw weapons, but before they can fire they are flung down the hallway, as if by a shock wave. 

They start picking themselves up. Sousa takes a quick look around. There’s a firehose on the wall, and he hurries over to open the door. Simmons is closest to him; he yells, slides the nozzle across the floor to her, and starts turning the crank. Simmons braces herself as the jet of water grows more and more powerful. When the valve is open all the way, Sousa carefully gets himself into position, draws the gun they gave him, and watches for his opportunity.

One of the Chronicoms suddenly falls face down in the water pooling on the floor. A wisp of smoke emerges from the collar of his stolen coat.

“Watch out!” yells Sousa. He points to the Chronicom and starts turning the water off. Mack looks up from the wall where he’s pinning a Chronicom with a hand truck.

“Time to go!” he roars. He tosses the Chronicom into the hallway; before it can recover its footing he swings the hand truck like a club into the side of its head. It drops with a splash into the water.

Meanwhile Sousa finishes turning off the water. He gives the crank handle a quick pass with his sleeve — maybe it would smear a few fingerprints — and starts for the door, sloshing as best he can through the water. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Deke hanging back, making sure. "Go on!" he shouts — if he can't make it, no reason for Deke to get zapped too —

He feels a strange pulse in his foot. The water is being pushed out of his path — not quite parting-of-the-Red-Sea dramatic, but just enough to give him and the others a dry path to the door. He picks up his pace as much as he dares; Deke stays within arm's length. Johnson is standing at the door, arms up and palms out, as if she's pushing the water. Astonished, Sousa glances behind him. The Chronicoms are lying in a dry spot as well, surrounded by a ring of water.

"Yeah, it's me," says Johnson. "I'll explain later." 

Sousa gets out the door, followed by Deke, and finally Johnson, who slams the door shut behind herself. They scramble into the van and Mack drives for the gate. The guards are dead and one of the gates is standing open — at least they don’t have to smash anything. They pull out of the lot and onto the service road.

They’ve only gone a block or two when Johnson opens a box of snacks. “Well, that was exciting! Who wants chips? Oh yeah, _crisps_.” She tosses a bag to Jemma. “Agent Sousa?”

“Sure,” he says. She tosses him a bag.

Deke sits on the floor of the van and gleefully starts opening the box that he filched from the storage room. He pulls out a small gold cylinder. “What’s this?”

“Let me see.” Johnson sits down and takes the cylinder. “It’s… lipstick.” She looks over to Sousa. “Do you know what this is?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you anything about this,” he grumbles. “But I think I might know _whose_ it is.” His heart warms as he sees Simmons’s face light up.

“Was that _Peggy Carter’s_? Or ‘is,’ I suppose I should say!”

 _Is._ That’s a relief. “Sure looks like it.” He keeps his voice light. “Any idea what she’s getting up to these days?”

“She’ll be Director soon, if she isn’t already,” says Simmons. She uncaps the cylinder and twists the bottom to bring up the lipstick. “I’d love to hear more about what it was like to work with her.”

“Working with Peggy was always an adventure.” He has to keep himself from smiling from ear to ear: he’d always known she’d end up running the place. “Don’t go trying any of those on, they pack a punch.”

“Yeah? What does it do?” asks Johnson eagerly. “Look, there’s more in here.”

“She had a few,” says Sousa. “She’d use them as part of a honey trap. One of them would knock the target out for an hour or two - that was her old reliable.”

“The target had to wear the lipstick?”

“No, she’d put on the lipstick and then kiss the target at the right time.”

“But how did it not affect her?” asks Simmons.

“I have no idea. There was another one that relaxed the target so much that they’d start telling you things, like those so-called truth serums. And then there was one that was still in development, last I heard. That one caused amnesia — retrograde amnesia.” He can’t believe they’re even interested in this stuff. “We had a gadget in the old SSR that caused amnesia in the target, it used electroshock. It caused them to permanently forget the last 15 minutes or so. Effective, but not very sneaky. The lipstick would be much more discreet, and safer for the target. They were having trouble with the formula, though. It was wiping out days of the target’s memory instead of just an hour or two. If I remember correctly.” Johnson grins at his little joke.

They start digging through the box again and asking him about their finds, and he’s trying not to think of that one test period that became known as the Lost Weekend, and suddenly they are thrown to the floor as Mack steers sharply to the side. The back door to the van rips open and a Chronicom jumps in.

* * *

Enoch appears at the critical moment — “he has a knack for that,” Jemma explains — and toward the end of the fight there’s a harrowing moment when he’s kneeling on the chest of the last Chronicom and somehow connects its sternum to his using some kind of cable. The Chronicom thrashes a little until Enoch unhooks the connection.

“Your mission has failed. Irretrievably,” he tells the Chronicom, and pushes it out the back door of the van. As they drive away, Sousa can see the wreckage of the Chronicom start to smoke.

* * *

When they get back to the Zephyr, Simmons and Deke hurry into the lab with the air of two kids who’ve gotten a very exciting Christmas present. Enoch follows them, looking considerably calmer and carrying a case of his own. Sousa goes back to his little cabin, changes out of his disguise, takes off his prosthesis, and lies down to rest.

He’s not able to sleep. After an hour or so, he gets up again. He doesn’t have crutches or even a second cane, and he doesn’t feel like having a conversation about that right now. So he dons his prosthetic again and puts on his own clothes.

Instead of getting up, he sits on the side of the bunk for a moment. This isn’t the first time he’s found himself in a strange new place with only the clothes on his back. But this is the craziest.

He lets himself think it: this is the worst. The worst by far.

* * *

Deke and Mack are able to get a television signal, and Sousa sits with the others to watch the broadcast of the launch and cheer as the enormous rocket rumbles past its launch tower and climbs into the sky. Around 30 minutes later, Coulson, May, and Rodriguez return from Cape Canaveral.

Time-traveling airplanes from the future turn out to be stocked with beer — or at least SHIELD’s time-traveling airplanes from the future. “Thanks to Simmons,” says Mack. Sousa raises his bottle in appreciation.

“Not just me,” says Simmons. 

“Our first time jump put us in Prohibition! Can you believe it?” asks Johnson.

“What, the time jump, or the Prohibition?” asks Sousa. “You all showed me the time jump, and as for Prohibition… I was just a kid, but I was there.”

“Did you have knee pants and one of those flat caps?”

“I sure did.” Sousa takes a drink of his beer. “So now what?”

“We keep an eye out for our next launch window,” says Simmons.

“Is there time for a little shore leave?”

Jemma shakes her head. “We can’t predict when the window will open. We’re tailing the Chronicoms, so we need to leave when they do.”

“So if I’m not on the plane… I stay in 1975.”

Jemma nods.

Sousa keeps his voice even and casual. “Not that it hasn’t been a pleasure, but I think I’m willing to take that risk.”

“You can’t,” says Coulson. 

“We can’t,” adds Mack. “We have to avoid anything that could affect the timeline, so that SHIELD will be ready to defend Earth against the Chronicoms. And we could really use your help.”

Coulson quietly slides a book within Sousa’s reach: _SHIELD 50th Anniversary 1951-2001._ “This might answer some of your questions. You’re on page 83.”

Sousa can’t stop himself from pulling the book closer, but he doesn’t open it. “You saved my life, but then pulled me out of it because of the timeline. I’ve lost 20 years I can’t get back, and I can’t even find out what I’ve lost because of the timeline. 

“I know I should be grateful to you for saving me. But it doesn’t feel like much of a favor.” He flips through the book. “I’m proud to be an agent, but I’m not just an agent. I’m a friend, I’m a brother. I’m an uncle. I’m a son. I’m — “ 

He looks down at the table before his voice breaks, and scans page 83 of the book. “Why’d they use _that_ picture? Wait — Daniel Jordan Sousa of Idaho? What the hell is this?” He looks up. Coulson looks shocked. Mack leans forward and pulls the book over to look for himself. 

“It is disinformation,” says Enoch, and comes over to the table. “I have completed my analysis of the information I captured from the Chronicoms. We must move quickly before the launch window reopens. Agent Sousa cannot make the jump with us.”

“So I have to stay here — in 1975,” says Sousa.

“No. In order to preserve the timeline, you must return to 1955.

“The Chronicoms are able to predict likely outcomes of changes to the timeline. They have foreseen that if you are not returned to 1955 it will be to their advantage — most notably, changes to the SHIELD leadership. Margaret Carter will never become the Director and will retire early. Alexander Pierce’s Directorate will begin earlier and last longer. Nicholas Fury will never become a Director. Need I continue?”

Everyone at the table except Sousa and Deke shake their heads.

“So I’m supposed to go back,” says Sousa, “but I need to stay dead?”

“ _Officially_ dead,” says Enoch.

“And this is why Daniel Jordan Sousa is in this book, instead of Daniel Antonio?”

“Yes.”

Mack straightens up. “Just out of curiosity: Do we know the connection between Sousa’s going back and the timeline holding up?”

“There may not be a single connection,” says Enoch. “Cause and effect are complex. I have one theory.” He turns to Sousa. “May I have your permission to share it? It may help the team keep ahead of the Chronicoms.”

Sousa can feel a painful lump forming in his throat. “Go ahead," he says.

“Well, as Agent Sousa correctly points out, he is not only an agent. He is a son, a brother, and a friend. And he is a husband. To Peggy Carter.”

The other agents are speechless.

“How long?” Coulson finally asks.

“We got married in 1948. I guess it never gets out?”

“Never.”

“You kept it a secret?” asks Johnson.

Sousa nods. “Between bad guys and professional enemies, it was just easier. If knowledge is power, you don’t want to go handing people weapons.” He turns to Enoch. “How do you know?”

“I am the bartender at the Krazy Kanoe,” Enoch replies, as if no further explanation is necessary.

Jemma winces. “So when you arrived expecting Agent Carter and found me….”

“Yeah. But you did help keep my base from getting blown up.” He turns to Enoch. “So how do I get back? I thought this ship only moved forward.”

“Through a portal created by the Chronicoms,” says Enoch. “Hydra had a fragment of a monolith just powerful enough to create a small time portal. They promised the Chronicoms help, and the use of the fragment, in return for the Chronicoms using the portal to transport a different artifact back in time. The Chronicoms were able to create the portal, but Hydra was unable to steal the artifact. And the Chronicoms —” his voice sounds almost smug — “were unable to retain custody of the portal. I can use the portal to take Agent Sousa back to 1955 and rejoin you here.

“But we must hurry. The launch window may open at any minute.”

“What, you don’t want to go back to Fiddlehead’s?” asks Coulson.

“Bartending has its pleasures and offers many opportunities for an anthropologist. But after 40 years I have accrued a great deal of leave that I must use or lose. Agent Sousa, are you ready? Remember, you must forget everything you have seen and done having to do with this ship and this team.”

As Enoch sets up the portal, Sousa shakes hands with the others and thanks them for saving his life. He tells Jemma that Peggy would be proud of her. As he shakes hands with May, her eyes fill with tears of joy. “Congratulations,” she whispers, and he nods quickly.

He does not notice the quick glance Johnson gives to Enoch and Mack, and the small nod Mack gives her in return.

Johnson is the last to say good-bye. “Thank you, Agent Sousa. It was an honor.” She stands on tiptoe, as if to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. He’s a little surprised, but he leans forward. She plants a firm kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry,” she says, and steps backwards. He wobbles a little, stunned. Enoch grabs his upper arm and opens the portal.

* * *

They emerge in New York. Sousa is visibly confused. “Mr. Enoch? What are you doing in Los Angeles?”

“I am not in Los Angeles. Remember: you must hide to protect Peggy and the baby. You must hide to protect Peggy and the baby. You must hide to protect Peggy and the baby.

“You are in New York, in front of the Krazy Kanoe. Here, put on these spectacles. Go in, meet me at the bar, give me this note, and give me the password ‘Swordfish Lima Foxtrot.’ Please repeat these instructions back to me.”

“Go in, meet you at the bar, give you the note, ‘Swordfish Lima Foxtrot.’”

“Perfect.”

Enoch makes sure Sousa gets down the steps and through the front door, and then peeks through the window to watch him. When he’s sure Sousa is headed in the right direction, he climbs back up the steps to the street and activates the portal. 

* * *

It’s early in the afternoon and the Krazy Kanoe is empty. Enoch is getting ready for the after-work crowd when he looks up and sees Chief Daniel Sousa — the same Daniel Sousa who was reported killed in Los Angeles a month ago, and whose body was somehow misplaced by the LAPD — limping across the room, looking dazed. He puts down the lemon he’s slicing and comes out from behind the bar.

“Chief Sousa?”

“There you are,” says Sousa. He hands Enoch a note. ‘Swordfish. Lima. Foxtrot.’”

“I see. Come this way.” He leads Sousa to the secret room in the back, shows him to a chair, and goes to a telephone sitting on a side table. He picks up the receiver and reads the note as his call is automatically connected.

“Director Philips? Yes, it is I, Enoch. Chief Daniel Sousa has just walked into the Krazy Kanoe, with a memorandum from the source we talked about.

“He appears to be disoriented but otherwise in good health.

“I will. There is some critical information in the memorandum for Assistant Director Carter. I think she would take it best if it came from you.

“We will be ready.” Enoch hangs up the phone. He goes out to the bar and comes back with a cup of coffee for Sousa.

“Thank you.” Sousa takes a sip of coffee.

“You are welcome. Chief Sousa, what is the last thing you remember?”

Sousa’s eyebrows knot together. “Los Angeles. Getting on a plane.”

“Interesting. And why must you hide?”

“To protect Peggy and the baby.”

“That is correct. I will help you hide. You may rely on me.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates and corrections:  
> #1, 6/24/20: Did some proofreading. Revised the scene where they're hiding the box and the fight in the storage facility.
> 
> Sharpies came out in the '60s. I'll post more notes later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deputy Director Carter gets briefed.

“There you are.” Director Phillips stands back and lets Peggy enter the hotel room. “Have a good trip? I’d better not find out you flew. And what the  _ hell  _ do you think you’re doing carrying your own suitcase?” He closes the door behind her and locks it. “Your nose need powdered? No? Then have a seat and put your feet up, and get something to eat.” He points to an easy chair pulled up next to a table set with food and plates and cutlery.

“Thank you, but I sat long enough on the train.” She knows he’s expecting more of a fight, but that’s all she can manage. She toes off her shoes and looks over the spread: some little sandwiches, an electric kettle and a basket of teabags, a slice of pie. Phillips has already eaten: his own used plates and forks and knives are stacked on the other side of the table. She starts a cup of tea, chooses a sandwich, sits down, and puts her feet up on an ottoman. As she tears her sandwich in half, she takes a quick look around the room. They’re in the sitting room of a suite, with doors on either side of the room leading to the bedrooms. Phillips must be planning to be in New York for some time.

He sits down across the table from her and goes back to his cigar. He doesn’t say anything more until she’s had a chance to eat.

“There’s been a break in the case,” he says. “A big one.”

Her heart skips a beat. She doesn’t have to ask which case. It’s  _ the  _ case, the case that’s always on her mind and gnaws at her when she tries to sleep at night. It’s the case that has all of SHIELD on the warpath. It’s Daniel’s murder, Daniel’s disappearance, the malice or incompetence that stole from her even the chance to say one last good-bye.

“Now, Carter? Listen,” says Phillips. “What I’m about to tell you comes from highly reliable and highly confidential sources. Not a breath to anybody, inside or outside, without my approval. You got it? No hints, no circumlocution, none of those _ but Director _ tricks — nothing. That’s an order. There are going to be more orders. You must follow them.”

“Understood,” says Peggy.

“All right then. Sousa’s been found.”

Peggy lets out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. At least the wondering will be over. And maybe there might be clues. “Where?” she asks. She puts her cup and saucer on the table, as if she’s about to put on her shoes and go.

“In a very unexpected place.” replies Phillips. “And... alive.”

The rest of the room vanishes: All Peggy can see is Director Phillips’s face, with something almost like a smile pulling at the corners of his eyes. She tries to speak, but it’s as if too many words are trying to crowd through a door and none of them can get out.

“Alive,” she finally whispers. “How…?”

“Damned if I know.” His face grows as stern as she’s ever seen it. “What I do know, I can’t tell you. And it’s going to have to stay that way. But he’s alive. 

“A little pogled; that’s clearing up. But he doesn’t know where he’s been for the last month. Last thing he remembers is getting on the plane for Nevada. He may never remember the rest. And you, and he, are going to leave it that way. That is an order. I know there’s nothing you love more than finding yourself a good hornet’s nest to kick. But you will Ieave this one alone.” He takes a puff from his cigar. “Besides: sometimes it’s better to be patient and not rile up the hornets. They get complacent and they lead you to the big nest.

“So aside from a scrape or two, and having no memory of what happened in Los Angeles and no idea of where he’s been for the past month, Agent Sousa has been returned to us in perfect condition. I suppose you’re going to want to see him.”

“Is he here? Where is he?” As  Peggy kicks the ottoman away, Phillips rests his cigar on the ashtray, goes to one of the connecting doors, knocks, and opens it a crack. 

“Ready?” he calls, and turns to Peggy. “Of course he’s ready. Go see that husband of yours.” He pulls the door open, and Peggy walks through.

Is she dreaming this? Or is she waking up from a dream? There he is, standing in the middle of the bedroom wearing the blue jacket and the vest with the cables that he insisted on wearing to  _ Nevada _ , the silly man, and a look of worry on his face. 

“ _ Peggy _ .” He starts toward her, reaching out with his right hand. She runs the rest of the way, flings her arms around his neck, and pulls him into a vehement kiss as his right arm scoops around her back and presses her into an embrace. It’s him, it’s really him, everything’s just as it should be — the scent of his skin, the end-of-the-day scratch of his cheek, the feel of his hair as she holds the back of his head.

She has to break the kiss because she’s starting to sob, but she can’t stop pressing her face to his face, to his chest, closing any space between them. She can feel him adjusting his grip on his cane so he can hold her with both arms. And then his right hand’s stroking her hair, and he’s kissing the top of her head, and her palm is resting on his chest and she can feel his low, rough voice as he says “Peggy. Peggy, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She can’t speak, but she’s trying to get her tears under control when she hears Phillips’s voice coming from the next room: “When you two are done  _ fraternizing _ , come meet me in here.”

“ _ ‘Fraternizing _ .’” says Daniel in mock disgust. He brings his left hand down again so he can use his cane; Peggy resigns herself and loosens her grip so he can shift his stance.

“Are you all right?” she says.

“Just tired, that’s all. And apparently missing an entire month of memory. But other than that I’m fine. Do I look any different?”

She laughs a little and sniffs. “No, darling. What about me?” She knows she’s gotten thicker around the middle.

He smiles, but his eyes look pained. “You look more gorgeous than ever. I’m sorry I missed it.”

They walk hand in hand into the next room and sit down side by side on a small sofa. Phillips can’t stop himself from almost smiling. “I’ve already briefed Sousa about our end of things, and I know you’ll do it again, so Sousa, how about you fill in your wife? Don’t hold anything back for my sake.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Director Phillips considers the evidence.

Daniel rubs his thumb against Peggy’s hand. “I remember being on the flight to Nevada, and then going down the steps of the Krazy Kanoe. Nothing in between. I went in, gave a letter to the bartender — “

“A letter? You wrote it?” Peggy interrupts.

“No. And forget about the letter, it’s a dead end,” says Phillips.

“I... don’t remember how I got it. You know how in a dream sometimes you just know something and you don’t know how you know it? It was like that: I had the letter, and I knew it was for the bartender. And I knew I had to say something to him, like a code or a password.” He stops to think. “Swordfish Lima Foxtrot.”

“The password to the Kanoe,” says Phillips.

“Not the Lima Foxtrot, though” says Peggy.

“So you gave him the password,” Phillips says firmly. “Then what?”

“I gave him the letter and he took me around to the back room and called Director Phillips. Then he explained to me what had happened — that I’d been gone for a month — and he showed me a newspaper and let me listen to the radio, to prove what day it was.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Peggy breaks in.

“God knows I wanted to. I can’t tell you how many times I started looking for a phone. But my gut told me that I needed to lie low and wait. And I knew the Director would know where to reach you.”

“Which I did, because you, Carter, were in Boston,” says Phillips. “You did right, Sousa. Go on.”

“A few hours later the Director arrived. He made a few phone calls and then drove me out to Fort Slocum to get checked out. And then we came here. He told me about… everything else. What I missed and what I don’t remember. I….” He gently pulls Peggy closer and kisses her as he squeezes her hand. “Oh, God. And for you, not knowing….”

Peggy’s eyes well up. “Well, I assume you interviewed the bartender,” she says to Phillips before she can start crying again. “Any clues or witnesses around the neighborhood?”

“Not a thing.”

“What about the memory loss? Did the doctor say anything?”

“Gave me a clean bill of health,” says Daniel. “Says I’m missing a leg, though. Was it like that before?” For a split second, Peggy looks alarmed, but then she sees his face and laughs a little, as he hoped she would. He kisses the top of her head.

“We should widen the search around the neighborhood,” Peggy continues. “Go to the cab companies, the airport.”

Phillips puffs his cigar. “Sousa, that’s the same cane you brought to Groom Lake, isn’t it? And you still have your wallet: anything missing?”

“There’s some money missing but otherwise everything was there.”

“Some, but not all. Someone could have cleaned you out and didn’t. Anything missing from your pockets?”

“Everything’s there, even the sock for my leg. And I don’t _think_ I look like I’ve been in a dungeon for a month, so wherever I was must have had at least a laundry and a barber.” Sousa thinks for a moment. “My coat and hat — I don’t remember having them at the Kanoe. I must have left them on the plane.” 

“What plane?” Peggy quickly asks.

Daniel’s face pinches in frustration. “I don’t remember. The plane to Nevada, I guess.”

“Interesting,” says Phillips. 

“What if it was something like zero matter?” asks Daniel. “That sucked people up and spit them back out, didn’t it? It would explain how I got from the train to Los Angeles and maybe even the lost month. Might also explain what happened to Gerald Sharpe.” To Peggy, Daniel doesn’t seem very convinced by the idea.

“As far as we know, zero matter behaved that way only once, with Jason,” she says. “The rift was generated intentionally, and he was returned almost immediately to the same spot.”

“None of the witnesses described flying saucers or glowing holes in the sky,” adds Phillips. “Seems strange that something natural and uncontrolled left you exactly where you needed to be in enough time to make your drop, or picked up Sharpe at exactly the same time someone else was impersonating him. I think we can rule out Martians or — “ he gestures with his cigar — “extradimensional Einstein stuff.”  
  
“I also think we can rule out your planning the whole thing and faking the memory loss,” he continues. “So we’re obviously dealing with a friendly. A friendly so friendly that when you showed up at the Kanoe, you didn’t act like someone who’d just escaped from an enemy or even a long meeting. You were as calm as if you’d just walked out your front door.

“A friendly so friendly that they not only brought you back, they threw in a big piece of intelligence. If these mysterious friends of ours were the same ones who picked you up in L.A., they knew enough about you to know where to find you and when. They knew enough about your mission to let you complete it. They know enough about us to know about the Krazy Kanoe, and they like us — or at least you — enough to bring you there.

“And they know something that led them to go to a hell of a lot of trouble to make it look like you were dead and then hide you away for a month, so whatever it is, it must be pretty damn important. They brought you back instead of keeping you, so they must want us to know something's out there and that they know about it. I want to find out what they know.

“I also want to know why they brought you back the way they did. They could have left you off in L.A.: at your office or the LAPD or even a donut shop. They know enough about us to have brought you to our headquarters. They might know enough about us to have brought you to Malick’s office, or my office. They might even know enough about you — or Carter — to have left you at _her_ office. But instead they brought you to a SHIELD asset on the other side of North America, and it’s not because it was on their way to buy bagels. They gave us another clue.”

“Malick —” starts Daniel. Peggy doesn’t say anything, but it’s so hard to watch Daniel search his memory. 

He frowns and shakes his head. “Never mind. I thought I remembered something, but....” He looks up at Phillips. “Have you told him yet?”

Phillips takes a puff on his cigar. He exhales, and lets the smoke curl in the air a moment, before he answers. “No.”

Peggy knows better than to push for clarification. “So: a friendly, who protected Daniel —” when she says _Daniel_ Phillips smirks a little — “and is sharing intelligence with us in a very unofficial way.”

“Maybe they’ve got a hunch but they can’t prove anything yet,” suggests Daniel.

“Or they’re going behind someone’s back,” says Peggy. “And you think this intelligence is reliable. Any theories as to who it’s coming from?”

“Let’s see: a friendly with information and resources, who doesn’t want any attention at all, and whose actions could be seen as a favor for Deputy Director Margaret Carter — but only by those in the know. Goodness gracious, who the dickens could _that_ be.

“Or not. You two have all kinds of friends. But if our friendly wants to remain anonymous, we will respect their wishes. Best way we can say thanks — and keep the door open.

“And you believe,” Peggy asks carefully, “that the _way_ in which they brought Daniel back… is a sign that they believe he is still in danger.”

“Yes,” says Phillips. “Sousa: what do you think?”

Daniel takes a deep breath. “I’m… thinking the same thing. For all the reasons the Director said,” he says to Peggy. “And like I said before... when I was sitting in that office, I felt perfectly safe, but I also had a strong feeling that I needed to be careful.”

“Malick’s investigation is pointing to Leviathan,” says Peggy.

“We’ll see what he turns up,” says Phillips. “But before _we_ do anything else, we need to decide what to do about Sousa here.”

He gently, precisely rolls his cigar in the ashtray so that only the few excess flakes of delicate white ash fall away, leaving a comfortable cushion for the cigar’s burning ember. Then he takes a slow, measured puff.

“As a SHIELD agent, as an SSR agent, as a soldier,” he says to Sousa, “you’ve been ready to give your life for the protection of others. For a while, it was looking like you actually had. But for this plan to work, I need you to do something that may be even more difficult. I need you to give up your life: to stay dead, especially to SHIELD.

“We put out a story about how we’ve found your body. We hold a memorial service, let someone make a speech. We close your SHIELD file. And then we wait for someone to let something slip.

“We’ll need to cook up a cover identity or two, but Carter’s an old hand at that, and we can ask some of our friends outside of SHIELD to help us out.

“Just don’t go thinking you’re going to be spending your days fishing, or working for some other agency. You’re too young and too valuable to retire.” He shoots Peggy a teasing look. “Besides, having you home all day would drive Carter crazy. We’ll find something for you to do.

“Comments?”

Daniel is silent for a few long minutes.

“Hope my new identity keeps my seniority,”he finally says. “I’m coming up on nine years. I don’t want to lose my place on the waiting list for the new typewriters.”

“Noted,” says Phillips.

Daniel squeezes Peggy’s hand. “What do you think? This does involve you, you know.”

“Not officially,” says Peggy.

Phillips scoffs. “Sure looked official at the wedding. That padre meant business.”

Peggy chuckles a little and looks down at Daniel’s hand, so big and warm and familiar — and _here_. So many times she’s lost him, or almost lost him; those constant days, weeks, months of separation when he’s in L.A. and she’s in Washington; these last weeks of agony, when her secret source of strength was ripped away from her…. She does not want to lose him yet again. 

It doesn’t occur to her to try to sway him one way or another. It’s his decision to make: as much as it affects her, it affects him far more. And it’s a decision that will call on some of the parts of his character - his courage, his dedication, his resourcefulness - that she loves and respects and trusts the most. 

She also loves that she can have faith in him to not be rash. He’ll do what must be done, and he’ll do his best to leave himself a way back to her.

And really: they’ve kept so many secrets so long and so well, what’s one more?

She turns her hand over and squeezes his. “If you take this on, then of course I’ll support it. And I’m not just saying it because the Director’s present.” She smiles. “I do rather fancy the idea of tricking this enemy.”

“Good, because we’ll be paying for all this fun in paperwork,” says Phillips. “Death certificates, birth certificates, Army records…. You’ll need to think up your new name.”

“Probably should be boring and forgettable,” says Daniel. “Something like ‘John Thompson.’ ” 

“One of those is quite enough, thank you,” says Peggy.

Daniel’s face grows sober. “How deep do you think this cover needs to be? Friends, family…?”

“Well, you two have done a good job keeping this marriage of yours a secret,” says Phillips. “I don’t think Malick knows, for example. So the people who know you’re married are doing their part. You could probably trust them with this.”

Daniel turns to Peggy. “How much does Pai know?”

“He knows you were on a business trip and went missing. The others know too. Director Phillips gave him the news.”

“Thank you,” Daniel says to Phillips. “I appreciate that.”

Phillips nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sure you want to tell him as soon as possible, but I think we’d better have a few more ducks in a row before we give him the news.” He glances at his watch. “Think Stark has any ideas on good places to find a body in Los Angeles?”

“Only live, female ones,” says Peggy. “But he might have… contacts with some insight. If we call now, we can catch Mr. Jarvis before he retires for the night.”

Peggy has the number committed to memory, so she places the call. She keeps her voice businesslike to conceal her joy as she greets Mr. Jarvis and answers his anxious questions about how she’s doing. Finally she’s able to ask if Howard is in; to her surprise, he is. She waits as the call is transferred to the laboratory. 

“Howard? It’s Peggy. Yes, thank you.” Daniel smiles as her voice takes on the sharp edge it gets when she’s managing Howard. “I assure you, I am. No, no I would not. _No_. Director Phillips is here, I’m putting him on now.”

She hands the receiver to Phillips and sits down again. “So Howard knows?” Daniel asks her.

“How could he not? Your mission involved him, and he was the first person your contact called. He sent Mr. Jarvis immediately and flew back to Los Angeles as soon as he could.”

“So that means Jarvis knows, and I suppose that means Mrs. Jarvis knows….”

Peggy nods. They look up as Phillips hangs up the phone.

“Stark's going to make a few inquiries and then meet us back in Washington,” he says. He considers as he takes a puff on his cigar. “This might end up saving me a lot of trouble in the long run. You know this marriage of yours has been a constant logistical nuisance, Carter.” 

Peggy smiles: this speech is familiar, and so is the twinkle in Phillips’s eye as he delivers it. “Yes, Director.”

“Vacation schedules, last-minute requests, constantly volunteering to fly west…”

“We deeply appreciate your patience.”

“Quite a few people told me it was a mistake to put you in your position. ‘She's just going to find herself a handsome agent and quit,’ they said. ‘She’ll be gone in a year.’ “

Peggy squeezes Daniel’s hand. “And look how that worked out.”

Phillips does his best to look annoyed. “Well. You should probably start letting people think you’re married, or at least pretending to be. Maybe you can take a weekend and elope or something.”

“That sounds fun,” said Daniel. “Can I come?”

Peggy pretends to consider. “Oh, I suppose. After we take our romantic trip to Washington tomorrow.” She checks her watch. “Today, now. Director, what time did you want to leave?”

“How soon can you be ready?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't control myself. Looks like there's going to be another chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new day.

_Twenty-five days previously_ _  
__Stark residence, New York City_

“Here.” Stark taps the photograph, and Phillips moves the magnifying glass. 

“I don’t see anything,” says Phillips.

“ _Exactly_. Two gunshots, two holes in the coat, but no blood on the deck and none in the water. And then there’s something else wrong.” Stark pulls over the photo of Sousa’s body floating in the pool. He’s drawn a circle around Sousa’s legs. “I built that right leg. Or I probably did; maybe it’s one of his old ones. I doubt it, mine are better. But whichever one it is, it’s not the same as his left, and it wouldn’t be floating in exactly the same way his left leg’s floating. Whoever or whatever that is in that pool, it’s not Chief Sousa.”

Phillips stares at the photograph. “You think somebody staged this?”

“Yes I do.”

“Have you talked to Malick about this?”

“No." Stark makes no effort to hide his disdain. "Whenever I try to talk to him about it, he starts talking about the chain of command and how he'll only discuss the case with you and Sousa’s deputy.”

“Then let’s see if he notices it himself and if he brings it up the chain.”

“What about Peggy?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to tell her that we’re concerned about the lack of blood in her husband’s crime scene photos.” Phillips looks at each photo again and then up at Stark. “But I think you’re on to something. I’m ready to keep telling her not to give up.”

* * *

Director Phillips has not opened his overnight bag, Peggy’s suitcase is sitting right where she left it in the sitting room of the suite, and Daniel has nothing: they can be ready to go as soon as Phillips puts his papers away. Phillips is also impatient to get back to Washington and to get Daniel there without attracting attention. 

That’s how they find themselves at the train station at 0200, boarding a sleeper train making a stop on its way to Washington. The conductor lets them board the half-lit parlor car. There’s only one other passenger, sitting at the far end of the car, wearing a bathrobe over pajamas. He glances up as they enter and then goes back to gazing out the window.

They sit down toward the other end of the car: Peggy and Daniel on a loveseat, Phillips in a nearby swivel chair. The whistle blows; the train leaves the brightly lit platform behind and advances into the dark. The other passenger finishes his cigarette and leaves the car.

As the train gets up to speed, the conductor comes to punch their tickets, leave off a few pillows and blankets, and remind them that the dining car is closed. Phillips watches him leave and pull the door closed behind him.

“When we get back,” he says, “let’s get you two in a cab and out of the city. I’ll go on to the office. We can meet up later today at my place.” He sketches out a timeline: finding a body out in California; forging an autopsy report and a death certificate….

“We also need to launch your new identity. Any ideas for your new name?”

Daniel looks to Peggy, who is taking her shoes off. “Do I get to be the guy you pretend to be married to?”

“You may as well, since you’ve already invited yourself along for the elopement.” She bends forward to tuck her shoes under the loveseat with her purse.

“Any thoughts about the name, then? You might end up using it once in a while, so it might as well be something you like, or can put up with.”

“We used ‘David Stewart’ for that fake wedding announcement in the London paper.”

“The society pages don’t do fact-checking?” asks Phillips. “Good to know.”

“Because it was in America, and had already happened. It’s a wonder they even ran it,” says Peggy. She takes Daniel’s hand.

“ ‘David Stewart’ ’ That sounds… memorable,” he says. “Can’t say I’ve met any guys who look like me with a name like that. Maybe my grandpa changed his last name from Santiago when he came to America.”

“Or maybe your grandfather Stewart married a lovely Portuguese lady he met on his travels,” says Peggy.

“Or maybe anybody who wonders about it can mind their own business,” says Phillips. “There’s a few ways to spell or misspell ‘Stewart’; that could be helpful.”

“We could get you some tartan neckties,” says Peggy. “They’ll look so smart with your knitted vests.”

Phillips shakes his head. “Because nothing sells a disguise like the right necktie. We’re going to have to get your affairs settled in Los Angeles, too, aren’t we?” he says to Daniel. “Got anyone out there who can be in on this?”

Peggy and Daniel speak in unison: “Agent Roberts.”

“Agreed,” says Phillips. “I told Sousa here about how quickly she got the L.A. office secured when the news first broke.”

“Mr Jarvis, probably,” adds Peggy. “And Howard. Perhaps.”

“He’s done a good job keeping his mouth shut so far,” says Phillips. “And if nothing else he’ll know where to find a good lawyer.”

They talk a little longer about practicalities — wills, beneficiaries, Daniel’s house — until Phillips abruptly announces that there’s nothing more to be done until he can get to the office. 

“So I think I’ll grab a little shut-eye,” he concludes. He grabs a pillow and sticks it behind his head, leans back in his chair, and pulls his hat forward over his eyes. He’s asleep in another minute.

“Oh look, the boss is asleep,” Daniel murmurs. “Quick, let’s go to the bar car.”

“Maybe later,” says Peggy. “I’m almost too comfortable to move.”

“Only almost?” He puts an arm around her shoulders and gently draws her against his side.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’ll be glad to get home.”

She turns to look him in the eye. Once she’s satisfied that he’s telling the truth, she pulls her feet up and curls closer to him. “This so-called parlor car could do with some footstools.”

“I haven’t even asked yet: How are you feeling? Everything going okay? Are you still — ?” 

She smiles as she takes his free hand and rests it on her stomach. “Everything’s going fine. Mornings are better. I was just at the doctor’s the other week. I… went ahead and told your family. I hope you don’t mind. But with everything else...”

He only nods and hugs her around her shoulders.

“They seemed pleased by the news,” she continues. “I was hoping to get to see them. You know I came in from Boston; I was up at Cambridge, for Project G.L.O.W.. The usual lab-and-lunch. I know how you love those.” Daniel chuckles, and she smiles. “I was actually a little disappointed when Philliips called and ordered me to New York. I hadn’t said anything to anyone yet, but I was hoping to visit Taunton on the way back.”

Daniel’s voice grows even softer. “They would have really liked that. They love you, you know.” Peggy tries to come up with something witty and self-deprecating, but all she can manage is an off-the-shelf _oh how you flatter me_ kind of chuckle. 

The truth was that she’d been a little nervous about her plan. She had no news for them, good or bad, over their connection to her, the now-vanished man who’d brought her into their lives. Would they blame her for what had happened? She already had her own vague sense that she’d failed them somehow — irrational of course, just worry and grief talking — but she well knows that worry and grief have a way of driving people to look for someone to blame. 

She’d decided to ignore her nerves and put her faith instead in the kindness they’d always shown her, and on the overnight train to Boston, tucked in her berth, she’d thought it all out. When her work at Cambridge was done, she’d check back with Phillips, see about taking a couple of days off: _completely_ off, only he would know where to find her. Then she’d call Daniel’s family and ask if she could come. In her imagination, she’d heard his sister Ines: “Absolutely! When can you get here?” 

She’d go on the commuter train. Maybe someone would meet her at the train station, maybe she’d take a cab to the house. And then she’d spend a couple of days in a world where she could see Daniel in his sister and father and nephews and nieces. They’d make some of the same food he’d known growing up. They’d probably put her in the same guest room they always put her and Daniel, where she’d see some of the same pictures he’d known in the house where he’d grown up. 

She’d spend time sitting at the kitchen table, talking with the others as a niece or two did her nail polish. There would be card games and teasing. She’d be able to have a proper cup of tea whenever she wanted — they kept a proper teapot for her there — Ines would join her if she wanted company, and now they had something else in common to talk about. And then at some point she’d probably end up sitting out on the back porch with her father-in-law.

It would have been lovely. It would have been sad, for there would have been no Daniel, and lovely, because he would be the reason that she was there. She’d wear her ring, all the time. No need to pretend. No need to keep herself a secret.

“Maybe once everything’s settled we can go up and give them the good news in person,” she says.

“Before or after we elope?”

“We could elope there.”

Daniel laughs. “Usually it’s the kind of place you elope _from_.”

“All the better. Nobody will think to look for us there.”

She intends to tease him about romantic spots in Taunton, but she’s feeling so relaxed and happy, and then Daniel is saying something about _Here, if you’re going to do that, let’s get one of these pillows…_ She obeys, letting him help her get a pillow under her neck and a blanket over them both. She’s feeling very cozy now, and takes a moment to enjoy it before starting the work of figuring out something to say…. 

She wakes with a start. 

“Was I asleep? That was a rhetorical question.” She checks her watch: she’s been out at least an hour. “Where are we?”

“This is how I’ve felt all day,” says Daniel. “I think we’re closer to Baltimore than Philadelphia now.”

Peggy suddenly realizes why she’s awake. She gropes for her shoes, yanks them on again, and hurries down the aisle to the loo. When she’s done, she waits for a few minutes, assessing the state of her stomach. Then she fills two paper cups at the water fountain, brings them back, and hands them both to Daniel. She rummages in her purse and brings out a cellophane package of oyster crackers (saved from yesterday’s lunch at the lab) and half a chocolate bar. 

“Is that what’s left of your K-ration for the day?” says Daniel.

“More like foragings.” She offers him some of her snack; he accepts two oyster crackers and a square of chocolate. When she’s finished, and she’s drunk all her water and most of his, he takes his turn going to the loo. Peggy idly wonders how long he’s had his prosthetic on; it occurs to her that Daniel might not be sure himself. She watches him as he makes his way back up the aisle and doesn’t see any worrisome tells. There’s only the little sigh as he sits down that means he’s tired.

“Did you get any sleep?” she asks. 

“Nah. “ He shakes his head, as if he doesn’t understand why she’d ask such a thing.

“Do you want to lie down? There’s another pillow here. “

“I’m fine, really. Wide awake. Maybe I’ve got that time-zone syndrome that the test pilots talk about.” He says it in a joking way, but Peggy is not fooled. She holds his gaze.

“That and just… thinking,” he finally admits. “You know every day’s a risk, even if you’re not on a mission. You could be just going down the street and be in the wrong place at the wrong time and have a piano fall on your head.” Peggy tries to suppress a smile.

“But this…. To just find yourself in a new place, missing a month of memories, with your old life gone, whether you like it or not….” 

“When I got hit… I don’t remember much, but I remember being awake in the field hospital, before the operation, and being told I might lose the leg. So I was prepared, and I knew it had to be done.” His voice is growing rough. Peggy reaches out and takes his hand; he turns his hand over to gently hold hers. 

“But it still took time to _adjust_ , as they called it,” he continues. “Ten years later and sometimes I still forget and fall out of bed.

“I lost a lot about myself. But at least I didn’t have to lose my name.”

“It’s not too late, you know,” says Peggy. “We could always come up with a different plan.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I agree with Phillips, this is the best plan.” He tightens his hand over hers. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

She sits with him in silent sympathy. “Well,” she says at last, “I hope you’re not _really_ going to lose your name. Your father himself told me that I’m a Sousa now, and I rather treasure that: so much so that only the worthy few are permitted to address me that way, and only when I give them permission. As for you, you’ll be the same Daniel Sousa you’ve always been, just carrying out a long-term plan to spite and confuse the wicked.

Daniel chuckles a little. “Or even the annoying. I can tell you, I won’t mind being dead to Malick.” He thinks for a moment and then nods towards Phillips, who still appears to be in deep sleep. “I’m sure he’s told you every last thing he knows and thinks about what happened, hasn’t he. Nothing held back.”

Peggy pulls a face. “Of course not,” she mouths, and then says aloud, “Everything I need to know.” 

“So what do you think? Was I ever really back in L.A.?”

“It’s clear that you were,” she says. “Howard’s contact recognized you and gave a good description, down to the clothes you were wearing in Nevada. He got the package exactly as you and he had planned, and your fingerprints were on it. We were also able to get your fingerprints from the newspaper in the lobby.”

“And he thought I was dead because…”

“Immediately after the handoff, he went to secure the package. While he was there he heard two sounds that made him think of gunshots. He wasn’t sure, though — he was in an interior room, and anything he could hear from outside was masked by the sound of the rain. He finished securing the package and then went out to the desk. The phones were all ringing - they were guests reporting that they’d heard gunshots and now — in the pool —” 

Daniel nods quickly, inviting her to stop, but Peggy presses on. “He called the police and went to the pool to investigate. He recognized your clothes, and your cane at the bottom of the pool. He used the lifesaving hook and tried to pull the ...victim to safety. But then he saw the bullet wounds in the victim’s back, and between that and the way the victim was floating, he realized he was too late. Some of the hotel guests reported hearing the gunshots and the splash, but no cries for help or even of pain. The victim likely died before he hit the water.

“Why do you ask?” 

“Because I don’t think I got shot. There weren’t any recent bullet holes in me or in my clothes, and I’m pretty sure these are the same clothes I put on before I left for Nevada. 

“And I don’t think I was in the pool, either.” He pulls out his wallet and shows her first the outside and then the inner lining. “Doesn’t look like it’s taken a bath, does it? And then….” He pulls out the bills and receipts he’s carrying in the wallet. “I went to the bank the day before I left, and they gave me new greenbacks, I remember joking with them about it.” He counts through them in front of Peggy. “Still crisp. They even still smell like new money. And these receipts look like they stayed dry too, the ink’s still clear.” He puts away the money and the wallet. 

“Our friendlies kept a tight schedule,” observes Peggy.

“They sure did,” says Daniel. “I just hope Phillips is right about their being friendlies.” 

“Phillips seems quite confident. And as bizarre as this is, your being away with the friendlies seems far more plausible than the alternative. Why would a hostile do it this way?”

“To confuse us? I don’t know. I just hope they didn’t make me talk too much while I was… wherever I was. If it turns out they sent me back brainwashed? Do what needs to be done. I promise I won’t take it personally.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” says Peggy. “Along with the fact that there’s no such thing as brainwashing, only torture and short-term suggestion. But it’s a ridiculous scenario, anyone who kidnapped you to try to get information out of you would have been giving you money to go away before twelve hours were up. You can be quite stubborn, you know.”

“Who, me?” He shakes his head. “You must be thinking of someone else. Maybe that David Stewart character.”

The train starts to slow. The door at one end of the car opens and the conductor strides through. “BAL-ti-morrre, next stop,” he chants. “BAL-ti-morrre. Limited service in the dining car. Next stop: BAL-ti-morrre.”

“Want anything?” asks Daniel.

Peggy shakes her head. “Not enough to fight the crowds. How about you?”

“Same.”

Phillips wakes up a few minutes later.

“Good morning, you two. Get any sleep?” He takes his hat off. “I don’t think it’s going to stay quiet much longer.”

They take turns visiting the loo at the end of the car. The train’s whistle sounds.

“To review,” says Phillips. “When we reach Washington, we’re going straight to the cab stand. You two head straight home. Sousa: no wandering around. Carter: I’ll tell Harris you’re out of pocket. I’ll call you and tell you when to come to my house.”

A few minutes later, the train stops. The parlor car is soon full. In a little over an hour, they are stepping out onto the platform at Washington, squinting in the bright summer sun. Another fifteen minutes finds Peggy and Daniel in the back of a cab heading west out of the city.

“How’s the weather been?” Daniel asks.

“Hellishly hot,” says Peggy. “And don’t you dare say anything about how at least in California it’s a dry heat.”

They go past the Lincoln Memorial and take Memorial Bridge across the Potomac. There are already a few boaters out on the water. Peggy smiles as she watches Daniel gaze out the window: it’s a pretty drive, he always likes going this way.

Another turn west and soon they’re pulling up in front of a red brick garden apartment building, one of a colony of identical buildings. Daniel pays the cabbie and follows Peggy up the three steps to the front door and into the building. Peggy checks the mailbox in the entry and then leads the way around the stairs to the apartment door. She checks the door — everything’s as it should be, nobody’s been in the apartment — and goes in, holding the door open for Daniel. He locks it behind them and turns back to Peggy.

Without a word, she steps forward and kisses him. Her joy and relief is even more exquisite, even more overwhelming than it was in New York. Daniel is back in the world, he’s alive and he’s here, he’s _here_ , he’s really here. She drinks in his presence.

And then she hesitates for a moment, makes a strangled little huff of frustration, and flees down the hall to the bathroom. She can hear Daniel laughing behind her.

When she comes out, her bag is in the bedroom. Daniel already has his jacket, vest, and tie off, and is unbuttoning his shirt.

She turns on the fan. “So what do you want to do until Phillips calls us?” she asks.

“Shower and eat. And sleep, maybe,” he says. He drapes his shirt over the back of his chair.

“Why don’t you go ahead and shower first then?”

“In a few minutes.” He goes over to the closet, but instead of opening the door, he stops, his hand resting on the glass doorknob.

He doesn’t turn around to look at Peggy. “My stuff still in there?” he asks. His voice is joking but cautious.

She catches her breath. “It’s all just where you left it.”

He nods a little, then opens the door and takes out the crutches and slipper he uses when he’s not wearing his prosthetic. Peggy’s closer to the dresser, so she takes out some underwear, his leg care kit, and his summer pajamas and lays it all out on the bed, next to his chair. 

“Thanks, Peggy,” he says. He sits down to take off and clean his prosthetic. Meanwhile, Peggy hangs up his bathrobe and some fresh towels for him in the bathroom. She comes back out to the bedroom.

“Everything all right?” she asks.

“Seems to be.” 

She ruffles his hair and plants a kiss, and sets about undressing. Daniel finishes inspecting his leg, front and back, with the hand mirror, and goes to shower. When he’s done, Peggy takes her turn. 

She washes quickly. Out in the bedroom, she puts on pajamas and starts putting her hair in pincurls — might as well have a fresh set if they’re to pay a call on the boss’s wife — the green shirtdress would do, what about Daniel? would have to see what’s on hand —

The first scent of coffee floats in from the kitchen and she stops to take a deep breath. It’s amazing how when Daniel’s here the apartment goes from being drab temporary quarters to feeling something like a home. The smell of coffee, the sound of him opening and closing cupboard doors.... She listens closely: any moment now he’ll say the same thing he always says when he’s here and first gets to the kitchen….

“There is _nothing_ to eat in here.”

...right on time. She smiles and does her last two pincurls, and goes out to investigate. Daniel is peering into the refrigerator. 

“Peg? There’s nothing to eat.”

“Don’t be silly. There’s milk and orange juice —”

“And?”

“Butter. And mustard. And there should be some jam.”

“Half a jar. And pickles, and some Marmite, whatever that is.” He closes the refrigerator. “Anything in the cupboard? Oh, look: crackers.” He does not sound impressed.

“You can pass those right here, if you please. What? The baby likes them.”

He gives her a teasing smile and goes back to his inventory of the cupboard. “You’ve got peanut butter, at least. Is this the same jar I bought last time I was here?”

“...Maybe,” she says through her cracker.

“And two jars of Ovaltine. Sending away for the secret decoder badge?”

“Tillie suggested it. And the baby likes it. And I _have_ been out of town. Check the freezer, maybe there’s something in there.”

“What, do elves leave things in there sometimes?” He opens the freezer door. “Three inches of ice and… toaster waffles.”

They end up breakfasting on toaster waffles with butter and jam; Peggy fills out her breakfast with some Marmite on crackers. They quickly wash the dishes and go back to bed. 

The window shade is down, but the bright morning sun is spilling in around the edges, leaving the bedroom in twilight. Peggy tucks herself as closely as she can next to Daniel and pulls up a single sheet to cover them. She closes her eyes as she feels his arm around her shoulders, folding her in.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she finally says.

Daniel gently rubs her back as he ponders. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and calm. “We need to defrost the refrigerator.” 

Peggy starts to laugh, and Daniel kisses the top of her head.

“What a mess,” he finally says.

“One that’s very much improved now,” says Peggy. Daniel frowns and hugs her a little more tightly. “And now we’ll turn it to our advantage and make it work,” she says. “We always do.”

“We do, don’t we? Things do seem to happen for a reason sometimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "that time-zone syndrome" - one of the early names for what's now known as "jet lag." The phenomenon was observed in the early 50's but the phrase "jet lag" wasn't coined until the '60s.
> 
> [Ovaltine's Captain Midnight Secret Squadron Decoder Badge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ul62oRavxZM).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stingers

_Five hours later_

Peggy and Daniel are half-dozing again when the phone rings.

“That must be Phillips,” says Peggy.

“Who’s going with you, Sousa or Stewart?” asks Daniel. “Also… Once we’re there, I’ve got some ideas I’d better run by you both.”

* * *

_Seven hours later_

They are in the front hall of the Phillips home. “Miss Carter, it’s so good to see you,” says Mrs. Phillips. “And I hear you have some news?”

Peggy beams. “I do. Mrs. Phillips, this is David Stewart.”

“An honor to meet you,” says “David.”

* * *

_Seven days later_

Peggy is leading Daniel’s father through the halls of the Taunton Inn. His face is grave: he knows that there’s only one possible reason that Daniel’s superior has come all the way to Taunton and brought Peggy along as well.

“...I understand meeting here, I’m sure it’s a better arrangement for him, but I hope you’ll come stay with us,” he’s saying. “Even if it’s just overnight, before you go out to California.”

“I was hoping to,” says Peggy sincerely. She hates keeping up this ruse — only a few more minutes…. “Maybe for a few days?”

“As long as you like,” says Mr. Sousa.

They reach the room. Peggy knocks and opens the door; Phillips stands up, introduces himself, and shows Mr. Sousa to a chair. Peggy sits next to her father-in-law.

“Thank you for coming,” says Phillips. “I know Peggy’s told you that there have been some important developments in your son’s case, enough to resolve it.”

Phillips’s expression is sober, but Peggy can tell he’s eager for the next part.

“He’s been found. And he’s alive”

Mr. Sousa sits, stunned, for a moment. “Oh, God,” he whispers. “Oh, God…. Peggy!” He turns to her. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, Papai.” Peggy’s next line is supposed to be _I’ll go and get him_ , but she’s smiling and can’t speak and her eyes are welling up, so Phillips just goes and opens the door to the neighboring room to let Daniel in. There’s a few solid minutes of hugs and thank yous before everyone settles down again.

“I like giving this kind of news,” says Phillips. “But there’s something extremely important we need to discuss next….”

* * *

_1975_

The investigation into the attack on the storage facility takes a long time, and Director Carter makes sure to discuss it with her husband: there’s a clear connection to the Groom Lake case from twenty years ago. 

There are some fingerprints lifted from the firehose, but they’re useless: nobody thinks to compare them to the prints of an agent who died twenty years previously, or of an agent who hasn’t been born yet.

And of course, there’s the long, tedious slog through all the boxes, looking to see what’s missing. It’s a good opportunity to re-inventory what’s in storage, shred old documents or convert them to microfiche. There are a few anomalies, including a Hydra artifact hidden in a batch of _Welcome to Your New Career at SHIELD_ books that had been printed upside down and should have gone straight to the incinerator — really, did someone actually think they would come in _handy_ for something? (The Director’s husband points out that apparently they did. The Director is not mollified.) The Hydra artifact is relabeled and immediately sent to the new and extra-secure storage facility in Washington.

Now that she thinks of it, Director Carter remembers the time she thought she’d accidentally sent a box of her field equipment in a shipment to that old storage facility. But it never turned up then, and it doesn’t turn up now. Just one of those little mysteries.

* * *

_2015_

Natasha Romanoff is almost amused by the reaction to the SHIELD data dump. Different groups hyperfocus on different topics — Mind control! Cryptids! Ancient aliens! UFOs! International secret societies! Actresses from the Golden Age of Hollywood who’d dated Howard Stark! A few people even start looking into the boring questions, such as when and why people like Alexander Pierce became Hydra loyalists.

Some assets in the SHIELD records are identified only by code names. It takes patience, knowledge, and skill to figure out who those assets are or might have been; few people bother to try, and even serious investigators are quickly frustrated. The asset code-named ULYSSES, for example: his name starts popping up in the ‘50s, but only in reports at the highest level of classification, as if he was reporting to the Director himself. His career continues through the ‘70s, under Director Carter, and well into the 80s. 

And then the name ULYSSES vanishes. His name never appears in a report to Alexander Pierce. Someone tracing his path might wonder if he was dropped as an asset, or just got out of the business after thirty years. But the path leads nowhere, and has no branches that might lead to his identity. He has escaped into time. 

**Author's Note:**

> So - shocker - a fic ran away with me. A very happy birthday to @AnniePlusMacDonald; much thanks to her for the Britpicking and to her and @Cuppa_tea_love for advance reading and suggestions.
> 
> Thank you to all for reading, for your kudos, and especially for your comments, which are as delightful and welcome as ice cream on a hot summer's day. A special welcome to new readers, especially Agents of SHIELD readers! If you're interested, I've written several fics about Daniel. Much of it was written before details about his background were aired on the show, but some of my guesses were pretty good, and it might be a fun read anyway.
> 
> His dad and his sisters appear in Quo Vadis, Lonely Town, Three Short Fics about Daniel Sousa's Father, and Peggy Carter vs. the Pinata, all linked from [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paeonia/)
> 
> And if you haven't watched Agent Carter, I hope you'll give it a try. Join us. We have crumpets and pie.


End file.
